The Book: The Phantom Tollbooth
The Upshot: This is one of those books that everyone read when they were six, but then spent the next 15-20 years hearing that they couldn't possibly have understood all the intricacies of the text. It's about life, man, it's about growing up and learning and coming to terms with the delicate balance of rhyme and reason. Or something.
Tollbooth does a nice job of splitting the recognition/approval difference. One of the perennial challenges of TrainBooks (I feel confident with that designation) is finding a book that will spark some element of recognition or relation in the viewer. You could be reading a really fantastic, intriguing, thought-inspiring book of essays, but if cute girls don't know the title or the author, well, they're going to brush it off. Unless they just think you look interesting in and of yourself, but that seems like kind of a longshot, don't you think?
Meanwhile, you can't just go straight for recognition factor. The second someone sees you reading a book they've already read, the mind unconsciously asks, "Why are you just reading this now?" Bring a leather-bound copy of Moby-Dick on the train and a lot of people will nod their heads in silent acknowledgment of the fact that it's a book that exists, but Moby-Dick's not the kind of book that gets a lot of girls going. And if it is a real turn-on, well, she's going to be wondering what's taken you so long. Don't you know it's a classic? Tricking women into thinking you're interesting based on the book you're reading is delicate business.
That's why I've opted for a book that banks on both. I get recognition for reading it, but no one thinks I haven't read it yet. They think I'm in it for the reread. What a thoughtful young man I am.
Target: The Nostalgic. A nice young girl who remembers a simpler time when things weren't so complicated, and life was about learning new things and meeting new people. The world didn't used to seem so cold and uninviting, did it? Perhaps she's recently transferred to DePaul, or she just started working as a nurse at the local hospital. She's recently moved to the big city, wide-eyed and optimistic about all the potential the big city holds. She has not yet been hardened to the world by constant disappointment and frustration.
Or maybe she's a girl who's made some mistakes and just wishes she could start over again with someone who doesn't know her life story and will simply take her for who she is in the here and now, no judgment.
Either is acceptable.
The Route: Brown Line, Kimball, down to the Loop, back up to Belmont. Around 1:30 p.m. The Brown Line, particularly the stretch from Damen to Belmont, is well-known as a hotbed of beautiful hipster women, all on their way from an early shift at the independent coffee shop, rushing to meet their cool friends downtown for a free event in the park that involves dancing, or music, or free trade.
The Outfit: Plaid shirt, cargo shorts, flip flops, glasses, pencil behind my ear, and some fairly unkempt hair. I call it "The Sleepy Architect."
The Women I Met on the Train: None.
The Analysis: I'm not delusional. I didn't think I'd strike gold on my first river-pan. (They pan rivers with pickaxes, right?) I'm going to count the afternoon a success because I enjoyed myself, read a hefty chunk of the book, and probably wormed my way into the memory of a few passengers. Yeah, I bet that's what happened.
I got on at Kimball and sat at one end of the train, reading, cover prominently displayed. There weren't really any girls nearby, so of course I wanted to drop the charade instantly, but that's another perennial challenge of TrainBooks -- the dedication. Girls want to see you reading the book in media res. If you start when they're looking, well, they know you're not that into it. But if they first spy you nose deep in a book? God, you must be engrossed.
As we entered the hipster zone, a handful of attractive girls boarded the train, all of whom sat on the other end of the car, presumably overwhelmed by the force of their arousal for me. As the ride went on, I actually made the unexpected move of getting fairly into the book, not even noticing when girls came or went. I can only assume that this drove them wild with desire.
We approached the Loop, and the train grew more crowded. I became antsy. This might be it, this might be the moment someone was spurred to speak. All these people packed together, personal space economized, boundaries ignored, was it too much to hope for an "Awesome book"?
I panicked a little, thinking of the moment this might happen. What would I say? My initial thought was, "Yeah." This wasn't bad. But I figured I could do better. "I know, right?" Good, good, this is progress. Then I hooked onto it: "Right? It's so much better the second time around." That's it. That's it right there. Affirmative, and elaborative. Has she read it a second time? What did she think? If she didn't, does she want to know what's so good about it the second time? (Let's hope not the latter, because the answer is, I don't know. It's okay, but the simplicity plus the cutesiness make it difficult to consume much of in one sitting.)
Ultimately, I didn't meet anyone. One girl brushed against me, I said, "Sorry," and then we both looked off in opposite directions.
The Conclusion: In all seriousness - or at least some seriousness - there was of course no chance anyone was going to say anything to me. We live in a big city, everyone's a stranger, and no one else on the train has my mission. I see pretty girls on the train all the time and I never speak to any of them because I don't want them to think I'm a weirdo. Instead I try to find a book that will make them notice me and think I am very charming.
It may not be a specific book or article of clothing or manner of behavior, but we all notice people. What makes that happen? When do we notice someone? How do we decide if we like them or not, these random strangers? What do we look for? I'm not sure yet, but I feel pretty confident it's not Phantom Tollbooth on the Brown Line at 1:30. Maybe rush hour?
The Oddly Prescient Excerpt:"[A]s you know, the most important reason for going from one place to another is to see what's in between." - Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth
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